


Thinking Out Loud

by mandysimo13



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Drinking, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, drunken displays, just a little, karaoke bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 06:23:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3885721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandysimo13/pseuds/mandysimo13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John drags Sherlock to a karaoke bar with the rest of the team. They sing some songs. Fun is had. John makes Sherlock blush.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thinking Out Loud

**Author's Note:**

> Been working on some other projects but in the meantime here's this little thing.

Sherlock couldn’t believe John had talked him into agreeing to this hideous display for drunken behavior. He was already cataloguing twenty seven ways to kill and then dispose of Anderson’s body for his insane suggestion. He was particularly fond of an idea having to deal with pigs, overall less of a hassle with disposal, and was searching his mind palace for any potential pig farms when John tapped his shoulder and handed him a drink.

“Stop your whinging,” he said taking a sip of his beer. “This is a perfect opportunity to try and get to know the rest of the team.”

“Why would I want to associate with morons,” Sherlock groaned. He glanced at the drink he had received on autopilot. “Did you just buy me a cosmopolitan?”

The doctor licked the foam off his lips and smiled. “Yeah. I did. Suits you.” He just sniffed in response and moved to sit at the bar to sample the brightly colored drink. _Tart. Just a touch of sweetness at the end. Heavily masks the flavor of the alcohol. Easily intoxicated._ “Don’t sulk,” John said jovially. He put his drink on the bar and wrapped his arms around his detective and whispered in his ear. “Just think. You get to see Anderson and Donovan thoroughly pissed and you have a working, fully powered phone in your possession with a fully functioning camera.” He pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s temple.

The image of a sloppy Anderson made him crack a smile. Tipping the glass to his mouth he swallowed again and said, “I knew there was a reason I like having you around.”

John chuckled, “yeah, for these lovely, little insightful moments. And the fact that you love my co-”

“John,” Sherlock blushed.

The sound of shouting and applause tore them from their reverie. Their combined gaze drifted over to a small stage located in the back of the bar to see a man holding a mic and addressing the gathered patrons. “Hello you beautiful people,” the man shouted into the mic. “Are we ready for some karaoke?”

“You bet your arse, I am,” Greg responded, sauntering over to the bar where the Sherlock and John had parked themselves. “Have you thought about what you’re going to sing?”

“How about nothing,” Sherlock mumbled into his drink.

“Ignore him.” John smiled and took another swallow. “I haven’t thought about it yet, all spur of the moment. Thought I’d wait to see what some of the others sing. What about you?”

“Well you remember that show Blackpool?”

Sherlock and John’s answers collided.

“Yes, the one with the doctor-”

“Isn’t Blackpool some kind of resort town-”

Greg ignored Sherlock’s question and spoke to John. “Well, I’ve always liked that pit with the pool.”

John laughed, “right, _Should I Stay or Should I Go_.”

“Might be fun,” Greg smiled, signalling for the barkeep. John added ordered another pint while Sherlock nursed his cosmo. The first person up was a woman - _mid-thirties, married, ladies night out, left husband at home with the kids, at least two children, had at least three drinks before getting on stage_ \- who sang _My Heart Will Go On_ by Celine Dion.Atrocious start. Couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.

“Don’t say a word,” John whispered in his ear.

Sherlock pouted. “You don’t know what I was going to say.”

“Oh yes I do, you prat.” He shoved his shoulder gently and laughed. “You don’t tell people who get up there anything other than ‘good job’ and ‘you looked great’. No one sounds good singing into a karaoke machine.”

John’s words proved true as another woman, obviously from the same group of mothers out on the town, performed a mediocre rendition of _I Will Survive -likely inspired by a cheating husband, eyes look more tired than consuming alcohol would have achieved, been crying more often than not, likely the reason the hen party had been gathered-_ whipping her hair around and punching the air dramatically, giving everyone a good show.

More drinks went down, more people sang and then it was Anderson’s turn to sing.

At the first few words Sherlock scrambled for his phone while John slapped his shoulder in excitement. “Sherlock! Get your bleedin’ phone!”

“Got it! Stop that!” He brushed John’s hand off his shoulder before aiming his phone’s camera at the stage. He missed the whole dialogue before the song but the video started the second Sir Mix-A-Lot started his serenade to big, black behinds. Greg covered his face, shaking his head, unable to contain his laughter and Sherlock panned the camera over to where an very unimpressed Donovan stood. She became even less tolerant when some very suggestive pelvic thrusts joined Anderson’s singing. When his exploits ended Anderson bounced off the stage, looking very pleased with himself.

“Oh, look,” Greg said, tapping John to get his attention. He pointed over to the DJ and laughed, “looks like Sally’s got a response to that.”

The crowd waited patiently for Sally to look through the book of offered songs. She smiled to herself and directed a very toothy grin in Anderson’s direction in a none too friendly manner. He blanched as she mounted the stage. The music started and Donovan surprised them all with a competent singing voice.

 _“When you first left me I was wantin’ more,”_ she shot Anderson daggers, _“but you were fuckin’ the girl next door. What’d you do that for?”_

“Oh boy,” John said, shaking his head. “Lily Allen, never a good sign.”

Sherlock chuckled over his third cosmopolitan. “Trouble in paradise.”

They listened to Donovan sing her song, tapping her foot and rocking her hips in time with the music. By the end of the song Anderson was beet red and Donovan was laughing to herself, receiving high fives from the hen party before making her way to the bar.

“Well done, Donovan,” Greg said into his pint.

“Didn’t know you could sing,” John added.

“Uh huh, was in choir all during secondary.” She signalled for the bartender. “Rum and coke, please.” She caught sight of Sherlock’s drink and scoffed. “Ain’t that a bit feminine for you, freak?”

“I’d say the same about your singing voice-”

“Alright!” Greg barked, breaking up the fight in progress. “No picking at each other tonight! Christ, you’re all like bloody children!” The DI swallowed the rest of his pint and slammed the glass on the bar, stalking off towards the stage. He sidled up next to Anderson while he waited his turn on stage.

The new performer was a young man - _late twenties, here with his girlfriend, fingering a noticeable bulge in trousers that was distinctly box-like in shape, thinking of proposing to said girlfriend after song-_ where a very pretty girl sat a table right in front watching her boyfriend perform. “ _Can...anybody...find me, somebody to love?_ ”

“Not bad,” John remarked, leaning into Sherlock.

“He’s going to propose,” the detective said dryly.

“What? How could you possible know that?”

“Just watch.” Sure enough, as the song ended and he sang the last note the man pulled out a little black ring box and said into the mic, “April, will you marry me?”

“Yes!” The new bride-to-be tackled her new fiance on stage with a big kiss, much to delight of the onlookers of the bar. When they righted themselves the DJ played _Here Comes the Bride_ over the speakers and the man put the ring on the girl named April and they left the stage holding hands.

“Well I’ll be damned.”

“Obvious.”

“To you, you great berk.” John just smiled and shook his head, tipping back his fifth pint.

“Oh look John, Grayson-”

“Greg.”

“Greg’s up.”

True to his word Greg belted out an energetic, if slightly off key, version of _Should I Stay or Should I Go._ He punched the air, kicked his legs out, and sung loudly to the song to the whooping of the crowd. Egged on by all the attention he took the mic off the stand and knelt on the stage, singing _“tease, tease, tease”_ to the hen party, earning him lots of good natured whooping and laughter. The song eventually ended and Greg took a generous bow before sauntering offstage.

“I think it’s my turn,” John said, setting his glass down on the bar.

“You sing,” Sherlock asked, a smile on his lips.

“Only in the shower and when I’m drunk.” He walked backwards, heading towards the stage, eyes on Sherlock. “And I’m well on my way to drunk so why not?” Without further ado he made his way over Greg pausing to whisper in his ear, the DI nodding emphatically and bounding out the door, before walking up to the DJ. The two men talked and the DJ looked up to followed John’s finger, pointing directly at Sherlock, and the two men shared a private smile before John bounded on stage. John’s cheeks were red with drink and small amount of embarrassment at what he was about to do.

But when the music started he jumped in and sang like a champ, evenly toned and unwavering. John pointed at Sherlock and sang.

_“Baby take off your coat, real slow.”_

Sherlock felt his face grow hot with the attention. He tried to hide his blush in his equally pink drink to no avail. While the doctor’s posture and smile were light and carefree his eyes were only for Sherlock; intense and unwavering. _“You give me reason to live…”_

Then out of nowhere Greg popped up behind him and dropped something on his head. “Here ya go. Specifically requested by your doctor.” The second his fingers brushed the fabric recognition made his complexion go from pretty pink to tomato red. _That damn deer stalker. “Would you do that for me? And just leave your hat on.”_

The crowd cheered John’s performance and he got a clap on the back from Greg when he rejoined them at the bar. “Very nice,” he jibbed. “Didn’t think that thing saw the light of day.”

“It doesn’t,” Sherlock huffed.

John just laughed and ordered another beer. “Come on, Sherlock. I think it’s rather fetching.” Sherlock sniffed primly in response and pulled out his phone.

_**Molly. I need your help. - SH** _

_**And you’re opening admitting it? - MH** _

_**Ha, ha. Listen. I need a song that will make John blush. - SH** _

_**What kind of blush - MH** _

_**Embarrassed to be seen in public. - MH** _

_**Where are you? - MH** _

_**Pub, obviously. Karaoke. - SH** _

The man who had graced the stage at the beginning of the night came back out to announce that it was half hour til last call. Sherlock panicked.

_**Quickly. Bar’s closing soon. - SH** _

_**He’s fond of Ed Sheeran. Pick something of his. - MH** _

_**I demand details in the morning. - MH** _

_Right._ Sherlock stood, wobbling from the long period of immobility coupled with alcohol.

John stabilized him before he tipped over. “Whoa, Sherlock. You alright?”

“Perfectly alright, John. Excuse me.” Navigating his way through the crowd he made a beeline for the DJ while a group of very drunk men sang Don’t Stop Believin’. When he reached the DJ stand he leaned over to get the man’s attention. “Excuse me.”

The man slipped an earphone off and bent towards Sherlock. “Yeah?”

Feeling the words slur as he spoke them he said, “I’d like to do a song.”

“Sure thing, bruv.” He pointed to the book, “pick one. You’re up next.”

Sherlock dragged the book across the stand to sit in front of him. There were two indexes; songs alphabetized by author and songs alphabetized by title. Knowing which artist he wanted but not the song he flipped to the “E” section. As luck would have it there were three songs by Ed Sheeran, - _This City, Thinking Out Loud_ and _Don’t_ \- none of which he heard before. He tapped the DJ and pointed to the list. “That man who sang that stupid hat song,” he started, “he’s got a bit of revenge coming.” He pointed to Thinking Out Loud, “is this one romantic?”

“Yeah, I’d say so.”

“Perfect. That one, then.” _Never heard it before but it’s a love song. Couldn’t be too hard to make do._

The group of men cheered and pounded each other’s backs, hooting and hollering all the way off the stage. Sherlock swallowed hard and put on his cool mask of calm before taking his place at the mic. He looked to the little screen to his right as the song loaded up before he found John in the crowd, eyeing him briefly. Then the song began.

_“When your legs don’t work like they used to before. And I can’t sweep you off of your feet...”_

The choice of song rendered an immediate reaction in John. He saw John lick his lips, bringing a predatory smile to Sherlock’s lips. As the song rolled on he realized he’d heard it somewhere before, probably heard John singing it or heard him playing it on the radio. Either way, the words came easier and his recognition rendered the lyrics on the screen unnecessary.

_“When my hands don’t play the strings the same way, mmm, I know you will still love me the same…”_

He closed his eyes and let his body sway to the music. He knew his voice would be perfectly in tune, perfectly groomed like the rest of him. He knew it would be deep and rich, knowing exactly the effect it would have on John. If he opened his eyes right now he would see his doctor’s face flushed bright, eyes wide, tongue caught between his teeth.

_“Maybe we found love right where we are. Oh, baby, we found love right where we are. We found love right where we are...”_

The applause he received dimmed in his ears, unnoticed in the place of John’s eyes on him. Just as he pictured, John’s face was a lovely shade of red and his eyes were wide open, his clever tongue caught between his teeth. When he stalked back towards the bar he watched as John subtly shooed Lestrade off towards the door with Anderson and Donovan. He sidled up to John’s side, his smile small and self satisfied.

John cleared his throat, “well, that was,” he paused, losing his train of thought in Sherlock’s gaze. “I didn’t know you knew that song.”

“I didn’t,” Sherlock replied instantly. “Not until I was about halfway through it, anyway. I remembered that I heard you playing it on the radio one day.” He reached around John to grab his coat off the barstool, deliberately invading John’s space. “How did I do?”

“Very effective,” John answered coolly though still pink in the cheeks. “Ready to go home?”

Sherlock’s smile ticked up a bit in the corner of his mouth, “always. Shall we?”

They left the bar together, hand in hand, as they walked the short distance to Baker Street. The cool air cleared Sherlock’s fuzzy brain and he realized he was still wearing the deer stalker. He plucked it off his head and dropped it onto John’s. “Where’d you get this wretched thing, anyway?”

John giggled into his hand. “I noticed it laying on the floor of Lestrade’s car. Thought it would add a bit of something to the song.” He beamed at Sherlock, “how’d I do?”

“Effective,” Sherlock quipped back, enjoying John’s bark of laughter in return.

Once back at Baker Street they hung their coats, toed off their shoes and made their way to their bedroom - Sherlock’s room - to ready themselves for bed. The routine of trousers unbuckled, shirts tossed aside, weary groaning as they fell into the mattress, had become comfortable and expected to Sherlock. Before he was never fond of sharing his space but with John he never felt as if they were separate. They worked in tandem in everything, effortlessly winding around each other in everyday life before meeting in the middle at the end of the day.

_Sentiment._

“What’re you thinking, love,” John asked as he pulled Sherlock close before pulling up the covers.

“Sentiment.”

John huffed, amused. “Not an advantage, right?”

The detective just nuzzled John’s cheek in response and pressed and small kiss to the skin there. “That song struck a chord with me.”

“Hmm?”

“Despite everything,” he said into John’s neck, “despite it all, we found each other.” He smiled and repeated, “ _right where we are._ ” He chuckled. “Absurd, isn’t it?”

John chuckled, “if you say so.” He yawned and turned out the light. “G’night Sherlock.”

“Night, John.”

Sherlock spent the time it took, feeling longer than it probably was, counting John’s breaths and memorizing his sleep softened face. It had taken years for love to finally claim him but when he did he surrendered to it wholeheartedly. Only because it was John. His John. _People fall in love in mysterious ways,_ indeed.


End file.
